


Reflections Are Protection

by pennedgalaxyarchive (pennedgalaxy)



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Eventual Romance, Gen, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-30
Updated: 2015-10-30
Packaged: 2018-04-18 00:32:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4685453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pennedgalaxy/pseuds/pennedgalaxyarchive
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After twelve year old Jim Gordon loses his father in a car accident his world is never quite the same again, one night when taking a bath he sees the reflection of a mysterious boy with horns. The two, despite being worlds apart, strike up an unusual friendship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Everything felt cold and suffocating, as if the world was choking the life out of Jim. One moment Jim had been a son, a normal son with two, fantastic and amazing but that isn’t the point, normal parents, but then _it_ had happened.

A four wheeler with screeching wheels and peeling red paint had come careening from the right and knocked straight into their car. The memories from the crash were a blur but what Jim did remember was enough to haunt his dreams for a lifetime.

Jim remembers his father’s face hitting the steering wheel, he remembers the distinct sound of his dad’s nose cracking and embedding itself in his own brain. He remembers the sound of metal on metal, in some cases it feels like he remembers everything but the important part. He remembers everything but the licence plate of the asshole that had ended the happiness of their peaceful family unit.

When he’d woken up in the hospital after, after _everything_ , all the doctors could, or would, tell Jim was that he had gotten lucky. With a broken arm, a fractured rib and a generally bruised body Jim hadn’t felt lucky, he’d felt worse than that and for a while whilst he sat in that hospital bed he’d felt unlucky because he wished he had died as well.

The funeral had been a tasteful affair as befitted his father, a man of the law. Many people had shown up to pay their respects, even an odd man named Falcone who had, against his mother’s wishes, given him a blade that had belonged to his father. It was a nice little knife but it only served to give him more questions than answers about the more intricate details of his father’s life, and now that he was dead perhaps Jim would never know the story behind that sharp blade held onto by a stranger.

His mother, Rebecca, had tried to comfort him and she had, in some ways, succeeded to a degree. He no longer wanted to join his father in death, he no longer wanted to be buried beneath the ground and he no longer wanted to scream anguished questions at his father’s tombstone.

He still, however, felt adrift without direction and cold above the waist in ways that had absolutely nothing to do with the lukewarm bath water he was sitting in. He clenched his fists and shut his eyes tight as he felt the stinging sensation of tears that he didn’t want to acknowledge. Despite his wishes tears streamed from the corners of his eyes and fell into the water below.

What happened next shocked him to the core, a sad voice with apparent concern spoke from the very water itself. “Why are you crying?”

Jim flinched where he sat, water sloshed over the side of the bath and soaked the floor, bubbles frothed ready to spill over. He looked around with wide eyes and a confused expression written in the facial equivalent of all caps.

“Who said that…?”

From the corner of his eye he saw a figure other than his own reflected in the water. “I did.” Said the voice. Jim looked down and he gasped in shock when he saw a boy around about his age staring back him through the blurred reflection of the bath water.

The boy was striking to say the least. He had luminous blue eyes, skin as pale as snow, a pointed nose and black hair that was mushed in ways that defied gravity, atop his head however was a pair of horns that looked like a set of iced over tree branches. He looked upon Jim with a gracious smile, his cheeks a burning red as they locked eyes.

Jim eyes narrowed and he squinted at the creature in front of him. “ _Who_ are you?” He asked

The raven haired boy looked genuinely confused for a moment. “Oh!” He exclaimed. “Oswald.”

Jim blinked curiously at him, eyeing his horns with fascination. “I’m Jim.” He replied as he pointed a thumb toward his chest.

“You’ve never seen horns before, have you?” He questioned.

Jim gave a bashful grin and rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “That obvious, huh?”

“Humans aren’t supposed to see us, so I guess it makes sense.”

Jim frowned and cocked his head in confusion. “ _Humans_?” He paused. “What are _you_ then?”

Blue eyes averted themselves from Jim’s questioning gaze. “I really shouldn’t say, you seeing me is bad enough.”

Jim gestured to the room around him. “Who exactly am I gunna tell?

Oswald shrugged, causing some of the bubbles of his own bath to become airborne, they landed abruptly atop the bridge of his nose causing him to sneeze. “Sorry.” He apologized with a wrinkle of his nose. “Your parents?” He suggested.

Jim shook his head. “Mom’ll just think you’re my imaginary friend.” He stopped and gave a sigh. “And well, my dad’s not around anymore.”

Oswald’s eyes widened in realisation. “Neither is mine.”

“It sucks doesn’t it?”

Oswald nodded but before he could answer a female voice shouted from outside of the bathroom. “Time for bed!” The tired voice of Rebecca Gordon bellowed.

Jim cursed under his breath as he stood up, being careful to angle his lower body away from sight. “Coming!” He shouted back, he looked to Oswald. “Sorry.” He apologized. “I gotta go.” He told him before rushing out of the bath, grabbing a towel and wrapping it around his waist.

When he exited the room Jim saw his mother hovering in the hallway, a concerned look etched across her features. “You alright, mom?” Jim asked as he looked up at her with a frown.

Rebecca nodded. “I’m fine.” She told him. She frowned and looked down at Jim. “You were in there for a while, are you alright?” She questioned. “And I thought I heard you talking to someone.”

“Uh…” Jim began, not knowing what to say. “It’s nothing, mom, don’t worry about it.”

Rebecca shot him a sceptical look. “Alright.” She said, deciding not to pursue the issue. “Next time maybe talk a little quieter.” She remarked with amusement. “You’re getting a little old for an imaginary friend.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

Oswald felt a number of feelings fill him the moment Jim moved away from his line of sight. This was perhaps the first time, in a long time, that he’d spoken with someone his own age amiably, the first time where conversation hadn’t ended with fierce frowns, painful tugging on his horns or bruises along the length of his arms. It was strange just as much as it was pleasant.

Oswald shook his head, he shouldn’t be thinking about Jim, they had barely even spoke and it was unlikely the other boy wanted to be friends, and then there was the small fact that Jim was human.

Demons weren’t allowed to talk to humans, especially demons like Oswald. Oswald was obviously other and inhuman with his icy horns, his deathly pale skin, his ability to communicate through reflections and, on occasion, freeze things with but a single thought.

Only demons that could mimic humanity were allowed to mingle among them, doing so usually required some metamorphic capability and those who could shapeshift were considered among the higher echelons of demonic society. Other modes of hiding one’s true self were also employed in the way of glamour spells that one could purchase or, in some cases if the person in question was skilled enough in magic, create.

Allowing yourself to be seen by a human was considered a crime worth either exile or, in some more serious cases, death. Oswald felt himself still at that, he felt a deep dread overcome him, wrap itself around his throat and unfurl and make a nest at the base of his stomach, it didn’t help matters that he had, accidentally, used one of his abilities to communicate with said human being.

Fragile thoughts of Jim filled his mind as he exited his own bath, why had his power sought the other boy out? Every other time he had used his ability he had never been able to link with someone more than a few miles away at best, but to tap into the human realm that was separated by a thick dimensional plane? It was damn near impossible for someone as young and as inexperienced as Oswald.

Yet it had happened and the whole experience only served to confuse Oswald, he had some vague but quickly forming theories, the most likely being their shared grief, magic did have a tendency of being manipulated by the castor’s emotions. Could his own magic have sought out a peer for him? Could his own magic have found a worthy companion, even going so far as to link a human to him?

He shook his head and tried to rid himself of such thoughts, he couldn’t think of Jim as if they were _friends_ , they had only just met and it would be presumptuous to assume such a connection already.

He sighed and spared a glance at the bathroom mirror, observing his mirror image he used a hand to brush his soggy hair out of his face, he was careful to avoid touching his horns. He didn’t like looking at himself often, he looked like his father; he had his midnight hair, his bioluminescent eyes and his horns, which was a surprisingly odd trait for an ice demon. If Oswald had to guess it was probably because of some mixed heritage somewhere down the ancestral line.

The rest of him was a combination of both his mother and father, he was their creation, a joint piece of art made by their love for one another. He wanted to make them proud, to live up to their expectations but when he looked at his steam blurred reflection all he saw was an unimpressive future laid out before him, a future entirely befitting of his station.

What would his father think if he could see him now? Would he be ashamed or simply saddened by his own son’s lack of self-esteem? Oswald didn’t know how he’d react because he was gone, dead, all that was left of his father now was a puddle soaked into the earth and an umbrella found upended on a suburban street corner.

The Demonic Investigations Unit had contacted them not long after his mother had filed a missing person’s report, Oswald could remember the harsh scream his mother had let out when they had told her of his dad’s fate. His father’s body had failed him, had disappeared without consent, Tucker Cobblepot had melted, the sad fate of many an ice demon. A fate Oswald worried he may one day experience for himself.

Before he could continue such grief stricken thoughts he heard the door open to his left.

“My son.” Began the tender voice of his mother, Gertrud. “You worry your mother.”

Oswald blinked and turned toward her. “Ah, sorry.” He told her, from the corner of his eye he glanced at the clock, the number ten glared at him obnoxiously. “It’s late again, isn’t it?”

She nodded. “I was sure you’d become a vodyanoy!” She exclaimed theatrically.

Oswald laughed and gestured to his body with his left hand. “I think I’m still me?” He remarked in a faux questioning tone.

His mother moved closer and ran a hand through his slick hair. “I would love you algae or not.” She told him as she placed a kiss upon his brow. “Now bed, my little one. Even demons need their rest.”

Oswald smiled. “Okay.” He said. “But only if you read to me again.”

Gertrud rolled her eyes affectionately. “Cheeky boy!” She laughed, ruffling his hair. “If that is what it takes, mother will read to you.”

Oswald nodded, for a moment he felt as if he could forget about all that worried him. He felt filled with warmth as he grabbed her hand and they walked out into the hallway, their destination Oswald’s room. It didn’t take long for Oswald to dry off and slip underneath the grey sheets of his bed, it took even less time for Gertrud to position herself at the end of it, a book in her hand and love in her eyes.

Oswald fell asleep to fairy tales spoken in his mother’s native tongue, he fell asleep to daring deeds of knights and princes, to broken hearts mended by fate and princesses awoken by true love’s kiss. He feel asleep unknowing that soon his life would be no different to that of what most assumed to be fiction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vodyanoy: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vodyanoy


	3. Chapter 3

Awareness came to Jim in bits and pieces, consciousness came to him slowly as he yawned himself awake. Bleary eyed he glanced around the room, he was most assuredly curious about what had awoken him, his eyes widened when he caught sight of a figure standing inside of his full length mirror.

Jim blinked and immediately sat up straight. “It’s you!” He cried. “I thought you were a dream!”

Oswald gave a shy laugh. “I had similar worries about you as well.”

Jim smiled at Oswald’s words as he pulled the covers back, leapt out of bed and stood face to face with the otherworldly boy. Oswald looked as if he’d been awake for hours, or at least to Jim’s eye a lot longer than Jim had been.

Oswald was fully dressed and wore a black turtleneck that was obviously too big for him, if only because of the way it reached his chin and was puffed out along his neck, Jim was sure that if Oswald so wanted that he would able to pull the fabric up higher, high enough to bury his nose inside of it and hide from the world. His pants on the other hand were a dark grey and reminded Jim dimly of his own formal clothes tucked away in the back of his closet.

Jim, however, was merely standing there in a pair of blue-white pinstripe shorts and an old t-shirt of his father’s that still, if Jim inhaled deeply enough, smelled vaguely of smoke and coffee, the scents he remembered most about his father.

Jim reached a hand out to touch the mirror, his palm pressed against the glass and drew Oswald’s gaze. “Are you inside of it or what? Like, if I touched the mirror would I feel you or the glass?”

Oswald placed his hand against it, aligning with Jim’s own, had they been able to touch they most assuredly would have felt the press of Oswald’s cold skin to that of Jim’s peach coloured warmth.  He shook his head. “I’m not inside of it.” He began. “I have this ability, I’m not entirely sure how it works, but I can communicate through reflections.”

Jim cocked his head in curiosity.  “How, though?” Jim questioned. “Is it magic?”

Oswald shrugged. “I just can.” He told Jim with a shrug. “Something like that, I guess. Everyone can do _something_ where I come from.”

“And you’re probably not going to tell me where that is. I mean, you still haven’t told me what you are or even if you’re my age!” Jim exclaimed with a prominent pout as he pointed accusingly at Oswald.

Oswald looked away from Jim and closed his eyes as several emotions filled him, he wanted to tell Jim about himself, he wanted to speak with him, strike up a friendship even, but Oswald feared the consequences of doing so. Oswald heaved a heavy exhale and opened his eyes to see Jim watching him with the slightest hint of concern and for a moment Oswald decided to take a chance, to disregard his own fears if only to gain something he thought he’d never have; a friend.

“Somehow.” He started. “I don’t think you’d believe me.”

Jim raised an eyebrow at that. “Really?” He quizzed, incredulity apparent in his tone. He gestured to the mirror in between them. “I’m speaking to you _through a mirror_. Try me, I think I’ll prove you wrong.” He continued with a smirk beginning to form.

“I’m twelve.” He told him. “But, uh, I’m also a demon.”

“Me too.” Jim replied. “A demon?” Jim continued in a wondering tone, to which Oswald nodded. “Like the bible kind of demon? Hellfire, blood magic and virgin sacrifices, kind of demon?”

Oswald scoffed and had the decency to look deeply offended. “We’re not all like that.” He told Jim. “There are lots of different types of us, some good, some bad, just like humans.” He paused, nervously a hand came to rest atop one of his horns. He rubbed at it subconsciously, as if it were a nervous tick that he had yet to break the habit of. “ _I’m_ not like that.” He continued.

Jim smiled in response. “I’d sorta guessed that already.” He watched with amusement as Oswald’s face coloured. “To be honest, I thought you might be something else.”

“Something else?”

Jim averted his eyes from the other boy, a bashful expression clear as day upon his face, his cheeks were tinged red and his hands played with each other anxiously. “I, uh, I actually thought you might be, well, that you might be an angel.”

Oswald blinked in bewilderment at the other boy’s confession. “An angel?” He wondered. “With my horns…?”

“Yeah, I know, it’s silly really-”

“No!” Oswald interrupted. “No.” He continued. “It’s fine. I just, I just don’t see how you could mistake _me_ for an angel, don’t they, at least in human mythology, have wings?”

Jim shrugged before putting his hands in his pockets and scuffing at the carpet with his sock clad left foot. “Yeah, but, I dunno it was just this weird feeling I got.”

Oswald smiled unrestrained, his teeth on display and his pale cheeks illuminated by a delicate rouge, he didn’t know what to say but he felt warmed by the accidental compliment. “But, uh, yes I-I’m a demon, an ice demon to be more specific.”

Jim cocked his head at this new piece of information. “What does that mean exactly?”

“Ah.” Oswald enunciated. “It means I have, and could learn, abilities related to my base element. It also means I’m more affected by hot weather.”

“So like can you turn stuff to ice or…?”

Oswald nodded. “Yes, but…I’m not really supposed to.”

Jim frowned, disappointed displayed across his face. “Please?”

Oswald sighed and placed his hand against the glass of the mirror. “Okay, but just this once.” He told Jim, the other boy then placed his hand atop the reflection as well, Jim gasped when he saw ice emanate from Oswald’s hand and swirl out like spider webs or intertwining oak branches across the surface of the full length mirror.

Jim looked up and into Oswald’s eyes which were now a glowing navy. “I can’t feel anything.” Jim remarked.

Oswald shook his head. “I’m only icing it from my side of the mirror, I’m not really there with you.” He paused and looked at his own hands in wonder. “I’ve never used these abilities at the same time before.” He remarked in awe of his own prowess.

Jim opened his mouth, on his tongue amazed praises of Oswald’s skill, but a knock on his door silenced him. “Jim?” Rebecca’s voice questioned. “Are you ready yet?” She asked. “Breakfast’s done and the school bus will be here in half an hour.”

Both Oswald’s and Jim’s eyes widened in shock. “No!” Jim yelled back. “No, I’m not ready yet.” He told her. “Give me a minute!”

“Alright.” She replied. “If you don’t hurry up soon though, you’ll food will get cold.” She warned from behind the wooden door.

“Okay, mom.” He replied in a sigh. Jim relaxed visibly at the sound of her footsteps retreating across the landing. “Sorry about that.” He apologized as he rushed around the room to gather up his clothing for the day. “I’ve gotta go.” He said as he yanked his t-shirt over his head.

Oswald nodded and averted his eyes politely away from Jim’s dressing figure. “I understand.” He paused and anxiously wrung his hands together. “But, uh, when you get back…”

Jim looked over his shoulder at Oswald. “We can hang out again, right?”

Oswald gave a huge grin and nodded. “Yes.” He replied in a whispery tone. “There’s nothing I’d like more.”

Jim flashed him a grin as he pulled on his school uniform. He looped his tie around his neck and said. “Ditto.”

After Jim had dressed the two of them said their reluctant goodbyes, both of them eager for Jim to finish school for the day, both of them eager to speak again. After Jim left Oswald cut off the connection with Jim’s mirror and flung himself onto his bed, a blush lingering on his cheeks and a growing affection making a home inside his chest.

He rubbed his face into his pillow and wished that whatever school was Jim would finish it in a timely fashion, and that once he was home they could continue their conversation.

A sudden sound startled Oswald out of his reverie, Oswald stilled when he heard his bedroom door creak open, he turned on the bed and looked over his shoulder at his mother, who eyed him with disapproval.

“I know, Oswald.” Gertrud said, her voice a solemn kind of tired. “I know what you’ve been doing.” She paused and looked toward her son’s mirror. “I know about _Jim._ ”


	4. Chapter 4

When Jim got home from school he was ball of excitement, he’d spent the day in class thinking only of going home and speaking with his new demonic, but oddly nice, friend. In class he had doodled pictures of Oswald in the margin of his notepad, spending most of that time trying to capture the exact curvature and detailing of the other boy’s horns as best as he could.

They weren’t exactly what you would call expert sketches, but they showed just enough skill to warrant showing Oswald, hopefully the other boy found his messy drawings endearing instead of creepy.

It had been a while since Jim had drawn anything, he’d lost the will to even think about picking up a pencil in the wake of his father’s death, his last picture up until this very moment had been of his father, smiling whilst cleaning his badge with a small damp cloth. He remembered that moment well, they’d been talking about maybe going camping during summer vacation, and it had been a peaceful moment between father and son, a moment he desperately wished he could get back.

He shucked off his coat and hung it up on the coatrack perched precariously in the corner, his dad had put that up three years ago when they had first moved into the house. He had accidentally hit his thumb whilst nailing the wood together, if Jim remembered correctly, they had all laughed about the unsightly swelling later.

Everywhere Jim looked there was bits and pieces of his father, he was embedded in the woodwork and he loitered in the garage, the scent of smoke lingering in the atmosphere even after months of disuse. His mom couldn’t stand to move his father’s things, all his father’s old DIY projects sat there gathering dust, his small collection of weapons were locked up tight in a cabinet near his drawer of tools.

She still kept some of his clothes in the back of her closet, and even though Jim wasn’t supposed to know, Rebecca parked half a block down the street every day to avoid having to face the grey reality that was their garage, and his father’s absence.

Jim shook his head and tried not to think about it. He ran up the staircase, his shoe laces flopping about half untied as he took the stairs two at a time, it was a miracle he didn’t trip.

“Oswald?” He called, opening his bedroom door with gusto. “I’m back from school.” He told his full length mirror. He sat down and pulled his shoes off, throwing them to some cluttered corner of his room, he gave a deep frown when Oswald didn’t appear like he had expect him to.

He took off his backpack and reached inside only to pull out his notepad, the one he had been doodling in earlier that day. Sock clad feet brushed against each other as Jim stepped forward and laid a clammy palm against the glass. “I’m back, Oswald, you can come out now.”

His words were met with only silence and he peered into the mirror, his eyes squinting as he tried to search for the other boy’s image instead of his own.

“Oswald?” He questioned, dread simmering low in his stomach. “Come out.” He ordered, his throat beginning to feel sore and his eyes itchy. No answer came even as he stared at the mirror for at least a couple of minutes, he felt irritation fill his veins and on his face was an expression of pure disappointment.

“You said you’d be back!” He exclaimed, his brow furrowing beyond his control and his hand turning into a fist where it rested against the glass.

Suddenly Jim felt a great anger overtake him, his first friend since his father died and he had abandoned him, he could feel it in his gut. Sure, he hadn’t known Oswald long, but he’d felt a connection, he was sure the other boy had felt it too.

“This isn’t funny!” He cried with a distressed shake of his head.

Silence met his ears and impulsively he pulled his fist back and pounded at the glass. His eyes darkened as he bloodied his knuckles on the mirror, a crack splintering the surface and spreading down the middle. He gave a viscous cry as he slumped to the floor, his back resting against the glass as tears, he had desperately wanted to ignore, fell from his eyes onto the floor.

Harsh footfalls echoed across the hallway, it was the sound of someone desperately rushing upstairs. Rebecca burst through the door, panting in exertion and looking at Jim with concern and horror.

“Jim?” She questioned, her voice soft but startled. “Oh, Jim, are you alright?!”

The boy shook his head, his eyes staring at his split knuckles and the notebook he had managed to stain with his own blood. “No, no I’m not.”

* * *

 

Oswald’s house looked like a war zone, but instead of being covered with sandbags it was covered with cloth and towels. Special fabric that been spelled to be immovable for everyone but the one who owned it. Gertrud, after confronting her son about his human playmate, had covered the house top to bottom, hiding every reflective surface she could find.

Gertrud threw a cloth over the bathroom mirror, the last mirror in the house, and gave Oswald a concerned look. “This is for your own good. If someone, if _anyone_ , found out you were talking to a human, they’d take you away from me.” She paused and ran a hand through her hair anxiously. “The Demon Investigations Unit would send you into exile.”

Oswald’s hands balled into fists and he felt irritation flood him. “I don’t _care_." He replied, his tone dripping with emotion. “Jim’s my friend, he’s the first friend I’ve ever had, mother! You can’t take him away from me, mom. Please don’t.”

Gertrud averted her eyes, her heart heavy in her chest. She wanted to wrap her arms around her son and tell him it would be okay, to assure him that time would heal this hurt. “My son, you barely know him.”

“Mother, that’s why I wanted to get to know him." He explained. "He lost his father too, he _understands_ me!” Oswald continued, his voice loud and his eyes turning a luminous blue.

Gertrud sighed and kneeled so she was at Oswald’s height. “Oh, Oswald, I’m the only one who understands, a human could never.” She said to him, before wrapping her stunned son in a strong hug.  “It’s too dangerous, Oswald. I lost your father, I can’t lose you too.” She kissed him on the cheek. “It would destroy me, liebchen.”

“Mother…” He trailed off, his hands coming to rest at the small of her back.

She moved away, her delicate fingers cupping his shoulders as she stared him straight in the eye, her face was schooled into a serious expression that brooked for no argument. “Promise me, Oswald, promise me you will never see that boy again.”

Tears beading at the corners of his eyes, he nodded. “I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure how I feel about this chapter or if I'm even keen on it, but oh well.


End file.
